


didn't know i was lonely (until i saw your face)

by deadheartbeats



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:43:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadheartbeats/pseuds/deadheartbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve isn't sure what to say after that, and an awkward silence spreads between them until Bucky is saying, "tell me about yourself, Steve Rogers."</p>
            </blockquote>





	didn't know i was lonely (until i saw your face)

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from my livejournal.

Steve Rogers has never been particularly social.

It’s not all his fault- he’s more of a wallflower than a social butterfly, fading into the background. He’s easily overlooked, but he doesn’t really have the drive to try and stand out. And he's okay with that, really. Steve's good at lying low. 

That's why (when Steve can't avoid doing his laundry anymore), he decides to go in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else is too busy cramming for some overlooked test or drooling into their textbooks to join him. 

Steve finds the laundry room a lot more inviting at night, quiet aside from the continual rumbling from the dryer and washer machines. It's a constant, soothing buzz that drones on and on. Steve would rather have that then being forced to listen to his roommate yell at his project partners over the phone. 

It's almost 2 am when Steve turns the dial on his first set of clothes in the washer and climbs on top of the nearest machine to work on his weekly sketches for art class (he's been slacking off the last few days, and he figures this is as good a time as any to catch up). 

He rubs his bony fingers over the charcoal dust in a makeshift attempt to shade the picture, but it ends up smudging all up along his fingers and over his knuckle in a dull grey. The color mixes awkwardly with his pale skin, but he's used to the combination at this point. 

Steve drags his pencil over the paper, tongue pressed to his cheek in concentration as he works. Drawing puts him in a sort of haze, drowning out most things around him. So, he almost misses it when the door is thrown open, but the slam against the back wall is enough to make his focus snap back to reality and sit up straight. 

"Shit," he hears someone say, words tilted with a familiar Brooklyn accent, and Steve can see a mop of messy brown hair and broad shoulders, facing away from him. "That was loud," the guy says, spoken in a soft mumble to himself. 

He backs away from the door slowly, balancing a laundry basket on his hip, still murmuring under his breath. It's totally impulsive when Steve clears his throat, and he sees the brown haired boy jump in surprise. Steve really can't help it when he flinches, too.

Steve gets his first real good look at the guy's face, their eyes meeting, and the first thought he can process is that _they're so blue_. Then, it's followed by a constriction of his throat as his gaze follows the slope of the guy's nose, down the angular lines of his cheekbones. _Handsome_ is the next thing that comes to mind. 

"Hey," Steve says when he's caught his breath, going for nonchalance but the word comes out a little more strangled than intended. His fingers comb into his fringe a little (a nervous habit) as he gauges the other's reaction, waits for a response. 

The boy across from him raises a brow, and he lets out a breath of laughter that makes Steve's toes curl. "And here I thought I'd be all alone," he speaks finally, a smile tilting at the sides of his mouth charmingly. Steve almost forgets to breathe. "'Pose I'm not the only night owl on campus, though." 

Steve offers him a weak excuse of a smile, one that falls from his lips too quickly. "Guess not," he agrees, and is thankful that he sounds more stable this time around. "But I don't mind if you join me," he adds, words coming slowly in after thought. 

Steve's rewarded with another winning smile that makes his stomach do a backflip. "I'll take you up on that offer," the guy says, walking to the nearest machine and shoving his clothes in haphazardly. Then, he drops at the foot of the machine Steve is perched on, and raises a hand up, fingers outstretched. "Got a name, night owl?" 

"Only if you do," Steve replies, staring at his fingers a little longer than he should. They're nice hands, fingers and palms looking a little calloused. He reaches down the rest of the way and squeezes his hand in greeting. "Steve Rogers." 

Another smile. Steve thinks he might be getting used to them, but that doesn't change the way it brightens the room with every flash of his teeth. "James Buchanan Barnes," the guy-James- echoes, and Steve can't help the curious lift to his brows. 

"Your parents named you after a president?" He asks, tone incredulous. His own mouth trembles with a threatening smile, a real one this time. 

"'Course. What else do you think is keeping me up at night?" James says, voice serious, but there's an unmistakable twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "But, I go by Bucky. You can call me Bucky." 

"Bucky," Steve mirrors, tasting the name on his tongue. "I like it. Better than James." 

Bucky smiles wide at that, slowly pulling his fingers down to his lap. Steve can still feel the lingering pressure of where his fingers were wrapped around his wrist. "I'm glad," Bucky says, leaning back and putting his weight on his hands. 

Steve isn't sure what to say after that, and an awkward silence spreads between them until Bucky is saying, "tell me about yourself, Steve Rogers." 

His name sounds so much nicer coming from those lips, but the other words are unfamiliar, because no one ever really asks anything about who he is. "Why?" 

Bucky pouts a little, but the shadow of a smile is still there. Steve wonders if he's ever not smiling. "C'mon, Rogers, help a guy out. If we wanna be friends we're gonna have to make awkward small talk first." 

"Friends?" It's Steve's turn to smile. 

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm a delight to be around, I promise," Bucky insists with a reassuring wink that makes embarrassed red rise on the back of his neck. "Tell me about yourself." 

There's a brief moments hesitation where Steve has to think about what to say, where to start. So he starts from the beginning. 

"I was born and raised in Brooklyn," he begins, and Bucky already interjects with an excited, "me too!" 

Steve spends the night reciting his life story, and Bucky doesn't miss a word of it. They talk long after their cycles are done, and past the sun rise breaching the dark.


End file.
